


Make me.

by Alexander_Slamilton



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alex is also angry about things, Alex is sad as well, Alex is scared, Fluff, He is nice, Hurt/Comfort, Jefferson is actually a good guy, M/M, feelings are things, he has a lot of emotions, i love them, many emotions, nice, sin sin sin, so does Thomas, these guys, they are too cool
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 19:44:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7451665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexander_Slamilton/pseuds/Alexander_Slamilton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An au in which, in Thomas' eyes, being gay is okay. Also an au where Eliza is a lot less forgiving. Set in the original time period, I hope I got the history right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make me.

Alexander gazed out of the window of his New York house. The city was bustling below him, a bastion of everything he had worked hard to create. Women lifted their frocks off the dirty ground and horse drawn carriages congested the cobbled roads. The sun was lifting itself off the horizon, lazy in the heat of the summer. Alex refused to look at the letter that rested on the desk in front of him, he’d woken to find Eliza and the children gone; their beds were not mussed by sleep. The letter had his name on it, in a neat script; he didn't read it, he knew what it said. He was not blind to the upset he’d caused, nor was he a fool. 

 

Not one hour later, there were only ashes on his desk where the letter had been. There was no one in the house, that stood empty and locked. There were no clothes hanging in the closet. There was no sign that anybody lived in the house at all. There was no food in the cupboards in the kitchen and no cheering fire crackling in the grate. It was empty and unloved. 

 

New York, the city amazed Alexander every time he strode out in to it, though now it held only a bittersweet feeling in the bottom of his stomach. He had a suitcase under his arm, mostly filled with papers. He walked through the streets, the suitcase becoming heavier and heavier as he made his way towards his destination. 

 

57 Maiden Lane was small, well it looked small from the outside, Alex currently stood on the doorstep craning his neck up at the windows. If there was something he needed, it was a distraction, and the person who resided inside the brown brick building was exactly the right man for the job. He rapped sharply on the door, three times.

 

“Jefferson.”

 

“Hamilton.” Thomas Jefferson stood to one side, gesturing for Alexander to come in.

 

“Thank you,” Hamilton walked up the one remaining step and found himself in the hallway. 

 

“This way,” Jefferson walked in front of him, his shoes clacking on the hard wood floor. 

 

The other man led him to a small reception room, it had books, thousands of them, lining the walls. Large windows showcased views out to a leafy, well kept garden. Three arm chairs placed perfectly round a fireplace took centre place, they were large, winged beasts that looked sinfully comfortable. 

 

“Please,” Jefferson indicated the chair furthest to the left, he himself taking the one on the right.

 

“Thank you,” Hamilton said again.

 

“May I inquire as to your presence in my house?” Jefferson nodded as one of his slaves brought a tea pot out. 

 

“Eliza left me, she’s gone, to stay with her father.”  
  
“I am sorry to hear that, though I would like to know why I am your first port of call, I would have assumed Mulligan, or perhaps, Burr,” One of Jefferson’s perfectly manicured eyebrows raised, in an almost perfect curve.

 

“I- I am not so sure myself,” Hamilton sighed as his tea was poured in to an exquisite china cup, “I wanted a distraction.”  
  
“Is that so?” The eyebrow remained in place.

 

“Aye, and you seemed the perfect person to provide me with one,” Alex was gaining in confidence. 

 

“I am?” 

 

“I believe so,” Alex nodded, his hair falling in front of his face as his head bobbed up and down; he didn't miss the slightly predatory look on Jefferson’s face. The way the other’s brown eyes widened and darkened, how his full lips parted and took on the likeness of a lion hunting his prey. 

 

“And what kind of distraction would be in order?” Jefferson grinned, as he took a sip of his tea.

 

“I did not get that far,” Alex huffed out a laugh, his hand coming to scratch at the back of his neck, where the hair was downy and soft. It was the truth, he hadn't expected Jefferson to let him through the front door.

 

“How’s about we go through that atrocious debt plan, that should prove distraction enough,” Jefferson’s eyes took on a malicious twinkle, though Hamilton couldn't think for the life of him why he was suddenly finding Jefferson’s eyes so damned mesmerising. 

 

“Please, that sounds wonderful,” Hamilton crossed one leg over the other, leaning forward in his seat.

 

“Through to the office, then,” Jefferson stood, it was only now Hamilton noticed the other’s legs. He almost sucked in a deep breath, he caught himself. _Shit._

 

He was lead down the hall he’d arrived through, to the front of the house. The office was smaller than his at home, but far more decorative. Red walls covered with scientific drawings of various structures, and fanciful things; a map of Paris took pride of place behind the desk. Large sash windows faced on to the street, now empty, below. An oil lamp stood in the corner of the desk, next to a beautiful silver fountain pen, that rested delicately on a cushion of blue velvet. Alex could see a copy of his debt plan on the desk, covered in scribbles and crossings out. 

 

“Please, take a seat, Mr Hamilton,” Jefferson sat on his swivel chair, indicating a much harder chair for him to sit on. 

 

“Alexander,” he said, the words almost slipping out of his mouth.

 

“Pardon?” Jefferson’s eyebrow was, once again, raised.

 

“If I am to be staying here a while, you may as well call me Alexander,” he shrugged, taking the seat. 

 

“Very well. To start, there’s section one, sub section i,” Jefferson pointedto the words, where there was such an abundance of blue ink over black that Alex could no longer tell what was his. 

 

***

 

When Alex woke, bright light was streaming in through the gaps in a shutter. He could hear the noise from the city below. He could not for the life of him remember where he was, the bed he had slept in was not his own, though it was as lonely and cold as his. The sheets were soft and luxurious against his bare skin, _his bare skin?._ He sat up, his head spinning, the clock on the opposite wall read 1 o’clock and it was far too bright to be in the morning. 

 

“Alexander, you’re up,” Jefferson, walked in to the room, a pile of folded clothes in his hands, “I took the liberty of picking out some clothes for you, One could hardly be expected to wear the same suit twice in a row.” Alex forced himself to remain calm at the obvious dig. 

 

“My thanks, sir,” he nodded, it was kind of Jefferson to give him clothes, even though he had brought a suitcase from home.

 

“Think nothing of it, when you are ready I will be in the office, I believe last night we only got to section one, sub section xi,” the other man grinned and walked out, Alex could hear his heeled shoes on the floor in the hall. 

 

Hamilton groaned a slapped his arm over his eyes; he could vaguely remember falling asleep listening to Jefferson talk. The southern drawl the man had lulled Alex in to a deep, dreamless sleep, in fact it had been the best sleep he’d had in weeks. Though he couldn't remember just how’d he gotten undressed and into bed. He rolled over, to watch the dust in the room be illuminated by light, it looked like snow filtering in through the small gaps in the shutters. 

 

He rolled out of bed, his feet thwacking on the bare floorboards. The suit Jefferson had picked out was green, not unlike one he already owned, it was slightly too big; obviously it had fitted Jefferson when he was younger. It smelled slightly of mothballs, like it had been stored away somewhere. 

 

He made his way down in the direction of the office. When he walked into the room, he was surprised to see Jefferson eating a croissant and drinking a cup of tea. His legs were crossed under the desk, his toes bent under the weight of his left foot. He was humming as he bit into the pastry, idly stirring milk in to the cup of tea. 

 

Hamilton rocked on the balls of his feet, and coughed, once then twice. Jefferson didn't look up at him, just nodded and pointed at the seat opposite. Hamilton sat, taking the croissant Jefferson pushed towards him. The pastry was perfect, buttery and crunchy as well as being soft and warm, it was something that made him smile. He looked up, Jefferson’s eyes flicked back quickly to his breakfast. 

 

“So, section one, sub section xi. I think the way that you deliver this sentence is clumsy, it allows for too much circumventing…” Jefferson began as soon as he’d finished the last bite. 

 

 

***

 

They didn't stop until the sun was hanging low on the horizon, the light going from gold to red quicker than they thought it would. They hadn't eaten since the croissant, that had been partly breakfast and partly lunch. Hamilton’s stomach rumbled loudly. 

 

“ _Bloody hell_ , I’m hungry,” he rubbed his belly. 

 

“Hamilton!” Jefferson’s voice is sharp, _shit_ , _he goes to church,_ Alex remembered too late. 

 

“My apologies, I forgot…” he trails off. 

 

“Think not of it, come, I should like to take a walk, you may come if you want,” Jefferson got up, smoothed down his suit, picked up a hat and a coat and walked to the front door, waiting for Hamilton to catch up with him.

 

“I think I would, thank you, Mr Jefferson,” he pulled on his outer coat that was still hanging by the door.

 

The evening was warm, there was no real need for a coat. They walked to the City Hall gardens and sat on a bench. The sun was lower in the sky now, the sky slowly turning purple, the low light of dusk creating a blurry light. Hamilton turned to Jefferson, watching his face as the other man looked in to the sunset. The light was reflected in his deep brown eyes, the purple turning his skin a deeper brown, Hamilton was gripped by it, Jefferson was- _Jefferson was beautiful… shit. Since, when was Jefferson beautiful?_

 

The park was small, really only a patch of grass with a path running through it lined by benches. To the left of him a fountain gushed water, stained orange by the light that bled through the curtains of liquid. The sky was clear from clouds and bird song echoed amongst the buildings in an evening serenade. 

 

“I often come here at this time,” Jefferson said, breaking the silence in a voice that seemed as though he was bored of waiting for Alexander to so, “I find it quiets the mind, makes it easier to fall asleep.”

 

“I’m sure it does,” Alex tipped his head.

 

“I never told you, but I am sorry,” Jefferson spoke, again like the words were being wrenched out of his mouth.

 

“For what, good sir?” Alexander was confused.

 

“The loss of your friend, Laurens. In ’82 was it?”  


“Indeed, it was many years ago now,” Alex cleared his throat, John was still a tricky subject.

 

“Though I am sure you think about him every day still,” Jefferson spoke like he knew, knew what Alexander had gone through. _Martha,_ his brain helpfully supplied. 

 

“Of course, there was no other alive whom I more truly or tenderly loved. There was no other man or woman of greater character than John Laurens,” as he spoke, a weight that had long since made his chest home, seemed to lift somewhat. Though talking about John was still like pouring lemon juice in a gun wound, it was good to let someone else know the depths of his affections. 

 

“I understand,” Jefferson was hell bent on not looking at him, Alexander was sure of this. 

 

“I know,” Hamilton nodded, crunching a stone under his shoe as he spoke, “I know you do.”

 

***

 

And so, they fell into a routine, in the morning they would work on his debt plan. They would work until dusk, then go for a walk around Thomas’s neighbourhood. What they had discussed on their first walk was never spoken about again; they never spoke of Maria Reynolds or Eliza, Alex was glad of it. Thomas had respected his wishes, and this was turning out to be a wonderful distraction. 

 

The morning of his second week staying with Thomas he had received communication to let him know that Eliza had returned to New York with the children though Alexander was no permitted to see her or them. He had spent the rest of the morning crying in his room, though he suspected Thomas knew, the other man did not speak of it; he had just continued to berate Alex over the lack of Oxford commas in his writing. 

 

About a week later he woke to Thomas striding in to his room, much like he had done on Alex’s first morning. 

 

“We are going to Monticello,” Thomas said.

 

“Oh?”

 

“Indeed, I have a wish to get out of the city, it is still summer and we are still permitted a break. I think it would be a good idea for the both of us to spend sometime away from New York. Washington has been informed and he approved of my request. We leave this morning,” Thomas strode from the room, talking in a hushed voice to his slave, “It should take us about three and a half days to travel there, don't forget…” the rest of the sentence faded in to the echoes of the house. 

 

Alexander wasn't going to complain, he’d heard Monticello to be a wonderful place.A wonderful house, richly decorated; with rolling fields and vineyards stretching out into the horizon. If someone had told Alex that he would be going on a summer break with Thomas Jefferson, two months ago he would have laughed in their face and called them a fool; now though, now things seemed different. Alex found himself no longer hating Thomas’s company, he was no longer merely indifferent about the other man either; he found himself seeking out the other, actively in fact. It was quite worrying.

 

 

***

 

In the end, a summer storm meant that their journey was lengthened to four and a half days. One nightwhich they were forced in to the same room, in an inn just outside of Wilmington, Delaware. It was hot and humid, they were just above the stables, so flies buzzed around them all night. They also had an argument about whether or not One should sleep with the window closed or open. Alexander had won the argument, what with the flies and the sounds of horses snoring below them, Thomas could not come up with a sound reason for keeping the window open. He had conceded, somewhat grumpily, turning over so his back faced Alex. 

 

Alexander, meanwhile, had slept the best he and in weeks; though he tried to tell himself it was not because of Thomas’s presence in the bed.He tried to tell himself that it was because the bed had been warm and soft, but deep in his core he knew this was not so. He knew that he slept so well because Thomas was at his side, warm and comforting; something another man should not be, but something the other man certainly was. He tried to bury the thoughts inside, tried not think about them, tried to bottle them up and throw them in to the deep open waters of his mind. It did not work, the feelings only grew.

 

 

***

 

Monticello, was just like Alex had envisioned in his mind. Two stories, made out of red brick with fountains and fields as far as the eye could see. He was ushered inside by Thomas, through the east portico; columns of stone painted white nearly blinded him in the sun. The entrance hall was large and bright, the sun shining in through huge windows in golden waves of light. Overlooking the room was a balcony, from which hung skins of animals Thomas must have hunted, on the walls were antlers and other hunting memorabilia. He could see through to what must have been the parlour, a large, bright and airy room. Alexander listened to Thomas as he talked to his slaves about opening up the house, making sure all the windows were open so the house could air. His shoes echoed on dark green wood floors as he came to a halt in front of a large imposing fire place, he didn't really know what to do, so he just stood in the hall way his hands closed in to fists, rocking on the balls of his feet. 

 

“Don’t stand there looking like an beef-head, come in,” Thomas opened his arms wide, “I’ll give you a tour.”

 

They walked through the entrance hall to the parlour, which was just as light and airy as it had looked before. Paintings hung on the walls, Alexander could see the likes of John Locke, Isaac Newton, and Francis Bacon. The floor here, was stunning, a parquet of light and dark wood ran throughout the room. Five huge windows opened on to another portico, their curtains rustled in the light breeze. 

 

“The parlour, as I’m sure you guessed, feel free to play any of the instruments, I have sheet music in the cabinet over there.”

 

“My thanks,” Alex had to stop himself from bowing.

 

They moved on to the dining room, which assaulted Alex’s eyes with chrome yellow. It almost blinded him, though he did notice the sunlight streaming in through a skylight in the top of the house. 

 

“We take all meals in here, unless you want to go for a picnic one day,” Thomas said, gesturing to the large table, currently laid for lunch. 

 

They walked out through the dining room and back through the entrance hall to the guest wing, there were two doors leading off the hall way. Thomas showed Alex to the second.

 

“This is your room, James and Dolley use is normally but they have already stayed here this summer and shouldn't be expected until Christmas. I took the liberty of having your bags brought in here, though next door there is another room you may use if you feel more comfortable.” 

 

“This is lovely, thank you,” Alexander still didn't know if he was allowed to call Jefferson by his first name, the other had yet to say he was.

 

“If you are taking a break at my house then you may as well call me Thomas, only if that is pleasing to you,” he inclined his head. 

 

“It is,” Alex smiled. 

 

***

 

It was a fact that Alexander had told no other in his life, the reason that he preferred to write over sleep. He suffered night terrors, dreams that haunted his sleeping hours, dreams of storms and hurricanes and sicknesses, dreams of John Laurens shouting at him to do more against slavery; though it did not happen every night, when it did it was awful. 

 

His second night in Monticello was one such night. Hot stifling summer air drifted languidly in through the window, doing nothing to cool the room but hanging around like hot soup. Alexander couldn't breath, he could feel fluid filling up his lungs, preventing air entering his body. The island was flooding! The seas rising up to swallow him whole. His mother and brother were dead, staring up at him with cold unfeeling eyes. The sea was lapping at his neck, he swallowed some with every drawn out, crackly breath he took. It covered his head, he would surely drown. 

 

He sat up sharply, awakened from his terror with such ferocity he thought, for a moment he was twelve again. He looked around. There was no water. No ghosts from his past confronting him. 

 

“Alexander? I could hear your scream from the other side of the house, are you quite alright?” Thomas opened the door to his room.

 

“I’m quite alright, thank you Thomas,” Alexander said, coughing with every breath he took. 

 

“You don’t sound alright, are you quite sure?” Thomas came properly in to the room now, in his hands he a glass of water, “take this.”

 

Alex took the water, Thomas sat on the chair near to the bed. He scrubbed a hand over his tired eyes, feeling the itch like needles behind his lids. 

 

“Thank you.”

 

“What happened? I heard a scream,” Thomas leant forward, his elbows on his knees. 

 

“Oh, nothing much, just… I get… uh…” 

 

“Night terrors?” 

 

“How did you know?”

 

“Patsy used to get them, after her mother,” Thomas coughed, Alexander could not help but remember that Martha died four months after the birth of their youngest child. 

 

“When I was twelve, the village that I grew up in on Nevis experienced a hurricane. I should have drowned but I did not. Sometimes, I imagine it like it is happening again,” he did not mention seeing his mother, brother, and John’s faces. 

 

“I didn't know that,” Thomas motioned for him to continue.

 

“My mother died then, we were sick and she was holding me; I moved in with my cousin. He committed suicide, I found him. I was shipped to the main land; then I met John. When he died, I lost a part of my heart. Then the affair and then the pamphlet. It seems that I am paying penance for my misdeeds,” he sighed, “maybe I am doomed to a cursed life.”

 

“You aren’t.”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“You aren’t doomed Alexander, you made a mistake, that you have to pay for; you are, now. Give Eliza her space and time, by the very fact of you being here, miles away from New York, you are helping. the situation. As for your unfortunate childhood, I applaud your stubbornness. Not having died is quite the achievement.”

 

“For once, Thomas, you seem to be speaking sense.”

 

“I do quite a lot, if you cared to listen. You were close, to Laurens, I mean?”

 

“He was one half of my soul, I am sure of it.”

 

“Very close, then.”

 

“He was the first person whom I considered a close friend. When I got here, people thought I was strange; when I fought in the revolution, John Laurens became my only real link to sanity,” Hamilton nodded. 

 

“You loved him?”

 

“I did.”

 

“Like you love Eliza?”

 

“I think- I’m not- I-“

 

“For once, it appears, sir, I have rendered you speechless,” Thomas quirked an eyebrow, a small smile on his face. 

 

“You have not,” Hamilton was obstinate in his quest to prove Thomas wrong.

 

“Then answer my question.”

 

“I did. _We_ did,” Alex found an honest to god blush spreading across his face. Dusting red along his cheeks, like rouge. 

 

The predatory look was back in Thomas’ eyes, it hadn't been there since the first few days. His eyes widened and darkened, they twinkled with what looked like desire. 

 

“But that was during the war. It was different times. We were alone, desperate, scared,” Alex hung his head, “swear you won’t tell, I do not wish to be hung.”

 

“If it’s anything to you, I do not wish you to be hung either,” Thomas almost looked, in the grey light of very early morning, like he was blushing too, “I should go, I’ll leave you to your sleep.” 

 

***

 

They did not have another close incident like that for a week. The time melded in to one, days melting together like ice in the sun. Monticello was quiet, the bird song was the only thing that one could hear in the morning. There were no people walking around and shouting in the streets, hell, there were no people anyway. 

 

Alex was lounging on a chair. He was under a tree, the light coming through the leaves, dappling the floor. He had read a good proportion of Thomas’s books by now, he sipped some sweet ice tea and sighed. The sun hung in the mid sky, he was glad for the shade, the heat waves were visible from the rocks by the pond. 

 

“I was wondering if you would come on a picnic with me,” Thomas held out his hand helping Alex up.

 

They walked for sometime, arguing about this and that, mainly Alex’s unfinished debt plan. Jefferson was arguing, the sun was shining, the birds were singing in the sky; flying overhead casting shadows on the ground and everything seemed right in the world. 

 

“You should change it.”

 

“No.”

 

“You should.”

 

“I shan’t.”

 

“If you want it to get to congress, you’d change it.”

 

“It will get to congress without the change,” Alex said, a flush rising in his cheeks.

 

“It won’t. Madison won’t even read it.”

 

“He will.”

 

“He won’t.” 

 

“He. Will.”

 

“No, he won’t. You should change it.”

 

“Oh should I?”

 

“Yes. Yes you should.”

 

“Make me.” 

 

Thomas pushed him against a tree, by the side of the road. He was looking into Alex’s eyes, searching them for any sign of hesitance. There was none. When Thomas’ ran his fingers though Alex’s hair, the other did nothing. When Thomas kissed him, long and hard, lips against lips, teeth clacking together, Alexander did nothing but kiss him back. Thomas’ hands were everywhere, running down the inside of his waistcoat, sliding up the inside of his shirt; he kept his hands in Thomas’ hair, tugging on the coiled strands.

 

“Well that was-“

 

“Hamilton, for once in your life, please be quiet,” Thomas dropped to his knees, looking up at Alex with brown eyes, almost obscured by heavy lashes. 

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me how I did, I am a slut for concrit and kudos tbh.


End file.
